


i'll always be there as your last line of defense

by jaracens



Series: defenders of shield [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Crossover, Different Hellcat Origin, Gen, Post-Canon, The Team Low Key Hates Deke, There's Some Bitch Named Susan, Trish Doesn't Know Deke, director Mack, shield agent trish walker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaracens/pseuds/jaracens
Summary: What if Trish Walker defended SHIELD when they were considered dangerous? What if SHIELD returned the favor when Trish was sent to the Raft?Inspired by a conversation between my friend and I on Twitter.The first half is set post-Jessica Jones season one and pre-The Defenders and during AoS season four. The second half is set post-Jessica Jones season three and in between AoS seasons five and six. Contains spoilers for all seasons.
Relationships: Skye | Daisy Johnson & Trish Walker, Yo Yo Rodriguez & Trish Walker
Series: defenders of shield [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918801
Kudos: 16





	i'll always be there as your last line of defense

**Author's Note:**

> What if Trish Walker got the chance to be an agent of SHIELD....?

_2016 — New York City._

Rain was pounding down on the city of New York, matching Trish Walker’s mood. Her temples were throbbing after a stressful day at her office at the WNEX station. She was exhausted when she exited the elevator on the floor of her apartment and pulled out her keys. When she got to her door, she fumbled them and they fell to the floor. In an outburst of weary rage, she swung her soaked umbrella at her doorknob. It snapped on impact, and she hissed out a swear as she bent down to pick up both her keys and the top half of her umbrella. As she stood up, she glanced over her shoulder in hopes of no one seeing her, and sighed in relief when she saw that she was alone. 

After successfully unlocking her door, she kicked off her drenched heels and her damp jacket. She stared at her closed front door for a moment, and hunger panged in her stomach. She walked barefoot into her living room, where she lazily tossed her keys on her counter and discarded the two halves of her umbrella into the garbage can. 

She opened her fridge and realized that she’d have to go grocery shopping within the next few days. She was too tired to cook for herself, so she pulled out her phone and dialed the number of her favorite pizza place and placed a delivery order. The man on the other side of the line said that it would take twenty-five minutes and she thanked him and hung up.

Her shirt was uncomfortably damp and she scurried into her bedroom to change out of the pantsuit and blouse she had worn to work. She shook off the maroon blazer and peeled off her white blouse. Her matching pants were sticking to her thighs and she quickly pulled them down and stepped out of them.

She moved to the right side of her bed where she had left the pair of black workout pants she had slept in the night before, stepping into them and pulling them up above her waistline. Trish pulled her hair from its damp half ponytail, and let the rare curls fall against the sides of her face. She had been pulling on her favorite blue sweater when she heard a crash come from her living room.

Trish grabbed the gun that was underneath her pillow, and quietly made her way into the living room with her finger on the trigger. She took a cautious step as she made her way further into the room, and she noticed that the crash had come from the now broken lamp laying on the floor. Her curtains were beating in the wind, and she realized that she had left her windows open. The floor and the back of one of her chairs were soaked.

“God _fucking_ damn it.” She muttered to herself as she slammed the window closed and put down her pistol. She grabbed the mop from the hall closet. As she was cleaning up the puddle of rainwater, her doorbell rang and she assumed it was the person delivering her pizza.

Trish placed the pistol under a pillow on her couch, grabbed her wallet from her purse, and answered the door with a smile.

The delivery man’s jaw almost hit the floor when she pulled the door open and he saw that he was delivering to, as he put it, _the_ Trish Walker. She paid him the twenty dollars, and he asked for a selfie as he handed her the pizza tray. It was moments like these where she wished her relevancy had disappeared, but she knew that she couldn’t pick and choose when she wanted to remain relevant and when she did not. She ran her fingers through her hair, and nodded with her best _It’s Patsy!_ smile, and the man kept thanking her over and over until she handed him his tip and shoved him out the door.

She carried the tray of pizza into her living room, enjoying the warmth from the bottom of the greasy box on her cold fingertips. She put the box on her living room table before moving to the side of the couch where she had hidden her pistol.

Trish returned the gun back to its spot under her pillow, and headed out to her kitchen to grab a paper plate. She went back out to where her dinner was waiting for her, and she plopped down on her couch. She turned on the tv and opened the box of pizza. She mindlessly flicked through the channels while she chewed on the edge of her pizza slice, barely paying attention to the reality tv and animal documentaries that clicked by.

She usually never had time to watch tv at night with work and helping Jessica with cases. Part of her was glad that Jessica was taking a break after she defeated Kilgrave since his return had taken such a toll on her adopted sister.

As Trish continued to flip through the channels, she nearly missed a headline that caught her attention. She switched back to the news channel and running across the bottom of the screen was the headline:

_QUAKE WREAKS HAVOC IN LOS ANGELES_

She leaned forward as footage from what had gone down that afternoon flashed by on the screen. Buildings were being destroyed, cars were flying through the air, people were being scattered in fear. In the epicenter of the chaos stood the source of it all.

Quake.

She stood with her hand out, causing vibrational blasts to explode out of the palm of her hand. 

Trish wasn’t going to lie, she found Quake interesting. She always kept tabs on the new vigilante every time she made it to the national news.

Quake and her involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D. was something Trish had always wanted to discuss on Trish Talk, but her bosses shut her down every single time. Their reasoning had been the media and the United States government deeming S.H.I.E.L.D. as a terrorist organization and they said that it would not look good for Trish’s public appearance if she looked like a S.H.I.E.L.D. apologist. That didn’t stop her from wanting to get at least _one_ of its agents on her show, but she put her tail between her legs and gave up when her superiors had given her a slap on the wrist for even bringing up the _idea_ of having a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on her show. 

The media was now portraying Quake as some dangerous and psychotic killer, but Trish knew that there had to be more to the woman behind the scenes. 

Part of Trish pitied whoever Quake was outside of who the media portrayed her as since she knew what it was like to have a public meltdown and to be portrayed as mentally unstable by every person who had a television or access to the Internet. Sure, Trish’s meltdown was most likely different than whatever the woman behind Quake was dealing with, but she knew that there had to be something _more_ to her story that they just weren’t seeing.

She knew that an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent going rogue and starting to kill people had to be a rare occurrence. They had some of the world’s greatest heroes such as Phil Coulson, Maria Hill, even Natasha Romanoff, the _Black Widow_ , under their belt. Those people had saved the world more than once, and she knew damn well that one _potentially_ bad egg shouldn’t ruin the reputation of an organization that helped keep the world together.

When the news changed to old tv show reruns, she flicked off her tv and sat in the darkness debating on if she should break WNEX’s rule against talking about S.H.I.E.L.D. and its current situation. She huffed out a sigh and rubbed her face.

“Fuck it,” She said. “I’m going to talk about S.H.I.E.L.D.”

*****

When she arrived at the WNEX station the next morning, she was greeted by Zack, one of the producers for her show. The man looked anxious as he approached her.

“Did you hear about what happened in Los Angeles?” He questioned as she made her way to the elevator that would take her to her floor.

She gave him a tight smile. “I watch the news, Zack.”

He huffed out a breath as he followed her to the elevator. “Ian told me to tell you to _not_ talk about you-know-who and you-know-what.”

She rolled her eyes. “I could give less of a shit about what Ian wants.” She said as she sipped her coffee and pushed the up button on the wall.

Zack rolled his head back and groaned. “You have to, Trish. Ian is one of your superiors and he could fire you if you don’t listen to hi-”

He was interrupted by the elevator dinging and Trish stepping inside. He followed her with his jaw clenched, and as she pushed the button with a glowing four on it, she said, “It’s my show. I should have the freedom to discuss what I want.”

“And you _do_ , unless you’re going to _defend a terrorist organization_!” Zack snapped as the door closed.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him. He shook his head at her, and the rest of the ride from the ground floor to the fourth floor was in an awkward silence.

As the door of the elevator opened and she stepped outside, she cast a glance over her shoulder. “Who ever said I was going to defend S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“That’s the thing, Trish. They don’t _have_ to.” Zack said as he followed her to her office. “Just, don’t do it. Okay?”

She pulled open the door to her office and plopped her purse down on one of the chairs. She shook off her jacket and placed her half drunk coffee on her desk. She rubbed her hands together, and gave him a wide smile.

“No promises.” She said as she brushed past him and into the recording studio.

*****

The show had been going well. She was waiting for the right time to start the discussion about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Quake, and she decided that the right time would be during talkback, where she could get the input of her listeners.

“Before we wrap up today, I want to bring something up that’s been heavy on my mind recently.” She said. “If you’ve been paying attention to the news, then you’ll know that the vigilante known as Quake has been running around the city of Los Angeles. I would like to get some of your opinions on the situation.”

She looked up at Nicole, her assistant, who was shaking her head as Trish gestured to her to put the first caller on the line.

“If you could please introduce yourself, and say where you’re listening from, that would be much appreciated.” Trish said.

The man on the other side of the line introduced himself. “My name is Jeff, and I’m listening from East Village.”

“Well Jeff from East Village, you’re on the air.” She responded.

She listened to what he had to say, and she was intrigued by his take of the situation. He was one of the people who thought that Quake taking the law into her own hands was wrong, but thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. was not a terrorist organization because of their connection to her and some of the issues that had happened to them over the last few years.

Everyone had been calm and respectful for the most part until a woman named Susan who was listening from The Upper East Side came onto talkback.

“I think Quake deserves the death penalty,” She was saying. “She’s murdered multiple innocent people in cold blood!”

Trish inhaled. “That’s not true. She’s trying to stop a hate group called the Watchdogs from taking the lives of any more innocent Inhumans.” 

The other woman laughed bitterly. “So robbing a bank is what you consider ‘trying to stop a hate group?’” 

“Listen, I don’t know her reasoning behind what she’s doing, but all I know is she’s trying to keep her people safe, and I respect that.” Trish said, trying to keep her temper down. 

The woman scoffed. “Maybe the Watchdogs are right with killing those… those _scum_. If it weren’t for that Inhuman epidemic, then we wouldn’t have a building collapsing murderer running around!”

“Let me ask you something,” Trish said. “I’m just here to discuss what’s going on so don’t get angry.”

“Go right ahead!” The other woman responded.

“What’s the difference between Quake and let’s say, Iron Man?” Trish asked. “One is considered dangerous but the other is considered a hero. Why?”

“One has powers and the other doesn’t! One doesn’t abuse these abilities they have!” Susan spat.

“Mister Stark’s Iron Man suit has the abilities to take down a building with its missiles,” Trish stated. “His armor basically gives him superpowers like super strength and super durability amongst other things. So how is he different from Quake?”

Susan sounded like she was in disbelief. “He’s different from Quake because he’s an _Avenger_! He’s _meant_ to save people!”

“That’s all Quake is trying to do.” Trish said. “Save people. She’s trying to save the lives of innocent Inhumans.”

“They’re totally different!” Susan snapped.

“She and Stark are not too different.” Trish said. “I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, but they are one of the same.”

When they ended talkback, Trish decided to end the show with one more statement.

“Believe it or not,” Trish started. “Quake is a human being, people. Maybe she’s got shit going on in her life that’s driving her to do this.” 

She could see Nicole mouthing “Cut! Cut!” to her from behind the glass.

She inhaled deeply. “Before ending today’s show, I just have one last thing to say.” She paused for a moment before speaking again. “I’m proud to say that Quake is my hero.”

*****

The next day the media was in a frenzy over the previous day’s show. She had woken up to several missed text messages from Jessica that were all links to articles about her publicly defending Quake. When she had left her apartment, every newspaper on the stands on the way to the small café where Trish was meeting her mother had her face on the front page and headlines like:

_PATSY WALKER DEFENDS QUAKE_

_TRISH WALKER IS A S.H.I.E.L.D. APOLOGIST?_

She shook off the weird stares as she continued down the street, finally reaching her destination. 

Her mother also happened to be reading a newspaper with her face on it. Dorothy was shaking her head as Trish joined her at the table.

“That was a stupid idea.” Her mother said.

“Good morning to you too.” Trish responded.

A waitress had approached them and asked if she could get Trish anything. She looked nervous as Trish ordered a coffee and thanked the young woman as she scurried away. 

“How many times were you told not to get involved with _them_?” Her mother hissed.

Trish rolled her eyes. “I believe that Quake isn’t who the media says she is.”

Dorothy shook her head again. “It doesn’t matter what _you_ think.” She scoffed. “This is going to ruin your public image.”

“Good.” Trish said. “I could care less.”

“You keep saying that until you say something and end up losing your job. I’m not going to help you when you have to clean restrooms for the rest of your life.” Dorothy said.

Trish shook her head and smiled at the waitress when she returned with her coffee. She said nothing to her mother as she complained about how her public defense of Quake could ruin everything she had.

*****

_Los Angeles._

Somewhere in California, Daisy Johnson read an article about a woman named Trish Walker defending her.

She sighed, knowing exactly who Trish Walker was, and what was going to happen to her in the future.

*****

_2019 — The Raft._

She wasn’t sure what day it was anymore. Since being sent to prison after losing control and killing the bad men in the city she loved, all the days started to blend together.

Trish wasn’t sure if it had been a day, a week, month, two months, maybe even a year since the last time she had seen the outside world.

She missed the life she had, but she knew that if there was even the _slightest_ chance she got out, her life would never be the same.

Her cell was lonely and cold. The restraints around her body were making her arms cramp and she could feel her ribs being pushed out of place by the bounds that kept her arms in place. She had lost all her appetite, so she was thin and almost frail, her cheekbones hollowed and her eyes sunken into her skull. Her blonde hair was matted and messy, and her skin was a pale parchment color. Her green eyes had gone dull, and she spent most days just staring at the ceiling pondering different ways she could make her suffering end.

She knew she deserved what she got, but something in the back of her mind was trying to tell her that what she did wasn’t wrong.

One day she was pulled out of her misery by a guard calling out her serial number. “Inmate five-two-three-zero, come with me.” He unlocked her cell, and dragged her up from her bed.

She stumbled out of her cell and was partially dragged to a room with a table with a brown paper bag and clothes. 

“What’s this?” She murmured as the guard almost threw her into the room. 

He snarled, “Your lucky day.” When she looked at him confused, he added, “You’re free.”

“I’m free?” She asked. “How? Why?” 

The guard shrugged. “Don’t know. Some lady from the CIA wanted you out.”

“Did you get her name?” Trish asked as the guard pulled off her restraints.

“Can’t tell you.” He said. “Now shower, eat, and get changed. The lady looked impatient.”

She nodded quickly before grabbing the clothes from the table and hurrying to the bathroom that was in the back of the room. She found a brush sitting on the grimy sink, and she tried her best to brush out the mats and the knots of her hair. 

It took almost an hour for her hair to look almost normal, and she sighed in frustration as she set the brush down on the sink. Clumps of her hair were laying on the floor, and they shifted as she started to undress so she could shower.

Before entering the shower, she stared at her reflection in one of the mirrors. Her ribs jutted out from under her skin, and her arms looked skeletal. She could see her spine poking out and she knew that her health had started to decline while being incarcerated. She knew she needed to eat and to get proper rest, and she hoped that whatever her life had in store could regain some sort of normalcy.

After she showered, she dressed into the sweater, and pulled on a leather jacket before tugging up a pair of jeans. She slipped into the leather combat boots, and grabbed the brown bag from the table.

She followed the guard out to the recreation room, where she was guided outside through the main doors of the Raft.

She hoped that Jessica was outside, but in her subconscious she knew that her adopted sister wanted little to nothing to do with her, so she let out a sigh and walked out the doors accompanied by two heavily armed guards. 

She was greeted by warm sunshine, and it felt good on her face. She squinted as she walked down the paved road. She was surrounded by electric fencing, and she knew that if she had ever tried to escape and jump the fence, she would be electrocuted at a high (and most likely fatal) voltage. 

The walk outside the gates were awkwardly silent. When she was finally outside, the guards pivoted on their heels and silently walked back to their posts.

Trish inhaled deeply letting the fresh air fill her nostrils. The smell of the sea salt filled her nose, and she let out a teary chuckle.

She was _free_.

In the back of her mind she knew that she wasn’t going to just walk away freely, so she wandered around looking for the helipad that she thought would take her home.

To her surprise, there was a jet waiting on the helipad. It wasn’t like the helicopter that had brought her to the island in the middle of the ocean. That helicopter had been barely able to make the trip as it was just a clump of metal that had ragged blades on it. This jet however, looked sleek and fast. It was black, and on the side she noticed a symbol that she hadn’t seen in a _long_ time.

It was an eagle inside of what looked like it could be a shield.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten her out of the Raft.

As she cautiously approached the jet, she noticed a woman standing on the lowered ramp. She was leaning casually on the wall of the entrance, and her head popped up as Trish got closer. She walked down the ramp and as she made her way toward Trish, she immediately recognized the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent approaching her.

It was Daisy Johnson.

Quake.

The small Asian woman was clad in combat boots, casual jeans, a white sweater, and a leather jacket. Her dark hair hung past her shoulders, and it framed her round face. She had her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and she narrowed her eyes when she looked at Trish.

“Daisy Johnson.” Trish said softly. She was aware of how stupid she sounded, but she was shocked over who was standing in front of her.

Daisy offered her a hand to shake. Her fingers were hard and calloused from years of training hard to meet the physical demands of being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. “Trish Walker.” She said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Trish nodded. “I could say the same for you.”

Daisy looked back at the jet. “We need to get going. Follow me.”

Trish nodded and followed the other woman aboard the jet. Daisy offered Trish an explanation whenever Trish had questions, and she learned that the jet she was on was called a Quinjet, and that they were frequently used as transportation. Daisy had also said that they would be flying to a larger aircraft where they would meet the rest of Daisy’s team.

“So,” Trish started in between bites of the burrito that had been inside of the paper bag. “Why exactly am I free?”

Daisy had told a man by the name of Davis to lift the ramp and prepare for takeoff. When they were in the air, she joined him in the cockpit, and Trish overheard her say, “Z-One, this is Jet-Five-Two-Three. We have the recruit.”

When Daisy rejoined her, Trish looked at her with a confused expression. “Excuse me, did you just call me a _recruit_?”

Daisy nodded. “I spearheaded S.H.I.E.L.D.’s efforts to get you out of prison.”

Trish shook her head. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense. Do you not know what I did?”

Daisy’s eyes softened. “I do. However, after your efforts to keep the public opinion on S.H.I.E.L.D. as positive as possible, I couldn’t let you just rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

She was astonished. “Even after all the lives I took?”

Daisy inhaled sharply. “The Director was a little leery on letting you join our team, but I managed to convince him that your abilities could be useful.”

Trish gave Daisy a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Daisy put her hand on Trish’s shoulder. “Of course.” She then slipped her hand off of her shoulder. “I’ll always be there as your last line of defense.” She stood, but turned back to Trish. “Oh hey, how was that burrito?”

Trish raised her eyebrow, “ _You_ got me the burrito?” At Daisy’s nod of confirmation, she said, “How did you know I liked burritos?”

Daisy smiled at her for the first time. “You’re not the only one with access to Wikipedia.”

*****

When the Quinjet arrived at the larger aircraft that Daisy had called the Zephyr, she was guided down the ramp and into the plane. Daisy guided her through the hallways filled with technology that Trish didn't understand until they arrived at a conference room where they were greeted by the other members of Daisy’s team.

The first person who was waiting upon her arrival was a tall, bald African American man. He had his arms folded across his chest, and she noticed that Daisy had to look up when she greeted him. He responded with a kind smile, and held out his hand for Trish to shake.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Trish.” He said. “I’m-”

“-Alphonso Mackenzie.” She interrupted. “I know you.”

Agent Mackenzie looked at her in surprise. “Oh, well, you can call me Mack.”

She nodded. “I know all of you actually.” She pointed to the small Latina woman that was standing next to Mack. She was looking at Trish with curious brown eyes. “She’s Elena Rodriguez.” The other woman nodded. Trish then pointed to a small, pale woman standing at the back of the conference room. “That’s Jemma Simmons.”

Jemma nodded. “You’re Patsy Walker!” She chirped in a British accent. Trish nodded and offered her a smile.

“Not anymore, but yes, you are correct.” Her gaze then fell to a scraggly looking man who was standing the furthest away from the group. She squinted at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know who you are.”

Elena and Daisy snorted, although Daisy tried to cover up the fact that she found Trish not knowing who the other man was funny and Elena did not. Mack gave Elena a stern look, and the small woman smiled up at him.

“Mack, I know you found it funny.” She said softly. “You should, what’s the phrase? Loosen up?” She looked to Daisy, who nodded. Mack just shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and his thumb.

The scraggly looking man looked offended. “Hey, I have feelings!” He said as he threw his hands up in the air. “I’m Deke Shaw.” 

Trish nodded. “I’ve never heard about you, I guess you were never a wanted criminal.”

“Oh, wait until I tell you about the time he got drunk off his ass and got himself arrested.” Daisy said.

Deke gave Daisy a dirty look. “Is it because I’m from the future?”

Trish looked at Deke with her mouth open a little. “From the _what_?”

Deke let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, never mind!”

Trish looked around the room, noticing that there were three people missing from the team. “Where’s Director Coulson and Agents May and Fitz?”

Elena grimaced and Mack cleared his throat. “I’m currently acting Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He said. “Coulson and May are currently off duty. Fitz is…” He looked at Jemma with a look full of sadness. The woman shook her head.

“Go on, say it. I’m okay.” She gave Mack a strong smile.

Mack turned back to Trish. “Agent Fitz is deceased.”

Trish felt horrible for asking. She felt like an ass. She looked over at Jemma with an apologetic expression. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Jemma shook her head. “It’s fine.” She pushed a smile onto her face.

As the group started to disperse, Elena joined Trish. “Looks like someone did her homework.”

Trish smiled softly. “Well, when the media names you the head of the S.H.I.E.L.D. fan club, you have to stay on top of things.”

Elena returned her smile. “Now, _gata infierno_ , tell me how you caused trouble in New York.”

“' _Gata infierno_?’” Trish asked.

Mack spoke up before Elena could answer. “It means hell cat.”

“Hell cat?” She looked at Elena with a confused expression.

Elena rolled her eyes. “You have the abilities of a cat, no?”

Trish thought about what she could do with her powers. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“People have said that you ‘raised hell’ in New York.” Elena said. “So, you’re the _gata infierno_. The Hellcat.”

Trish considered the name. “It has the nice ring to it.”

Elena smiled at her. “See?”

Trish returned the smile. “Hellcat it is.”

Trish managed to be the hero that she always wanted to be. She saved countless lives as an agent, redeeming herself in the eyes of the public, and to everyone she cared about.

With the help of S.H.I.E.L.D., Hellcat was born.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
